The art of raft sinking
by El loopy
Summary: Amanda is alone and destitute when Wickham comes to her rescue (again). AU from the point where Darcy 'breaks up' with Amanda. Wickham x Amanda. Darcy lovers may want to steer clear. Three-shot.
1. The inn

**A/N Another fic that I wrote maybe three years ago and it has taken me this long to put it up. Although I love Darcy normally he is not portrayed favourably here. You have been warned. This is 100% Wickham and Amanda. Enjoy.**

_'They will all pry your fingers from the raft and wait to watch you drown. It is the way of the world. Except me.' ~ Wickham_

The Art of Raft Sinking

He was the one who found her. She was curled up in the tightest ball possible, trying to conserve heat against the bitter wind that ripped across the moorland. Even in her unconscious state she shivered.

"Oh Miss Price," he muttered sadly and moved to lift her gently into his arms. Amanda murmured feverishly and turned into his body heat. Wickham held the small figure tight and carefully set off back across the bracken.

She had been drowning. Now he may not be a naval officer but at least he knew how to swim.

"Miss Price, if it were in my power I would sink their raft for you," he told her as he trudged on, "but as it is," he added in a more jovial voice, "I have no such means to do so. So until I do, you will just have to be content with not drowning."

Wickham did not have much on him but that did not stop him procuring a room for the night at the nearest inn he could find. He was grateful that Miss Price had not gone far from the main track before curling up for the night. He was even more grateful for little boys in want of a shiny penny pointing out precisely where she had left said track.

A doctor was procured immediately for Miss Price as soon as Wickham laid her upon a bed, though he was sure there was very little wrong with her for she had not been missing above two days, since Darcy had cast her out. The doctor confirmed it. She had some fever but was merely exhausted, and he prescribed rest.

Wickham spun a fantastic story, pulling important sounding, fabricated names out of thin air, watching the simple folk marvel at his connections and making sure the word sister was mentioned a lavish number of times.

George smiled charmingly and thanked God for the Wickham art of deception.

* * *

Amanda woke up with the disorienting sensation that one always gets when waking up in a strange bed. She had felt it many times over the last few weeks; first in Elizabeth's bed, and then in Mrs Collin's house and then Pemberley. This felt much stranger though because she hadn't actually gone to sleep in this bed.

Amanda remembered the walking and the sharp wind and the ache in her feet, and the stifled misery as she kept trudging wearily onwards because it was the only thing she could do. She remembered the prickly grass and the hard ground and the disbelief that she was homeless and destitute. She had £27,000 a year for crying out loud.

At any rate she couldn't remember getting here, wherever 'here' was. There was a vague memory of being carried – she must have been really out of it, probably dying of hypothermia or something – and a voice talking to her…about drowning? It was a familiar voice…she could hear the same tone striking chords in her memory…accompanied by her own exasperated and irked response.

The door to the room clicked open as her memory clicked the image into place.

"Wickham!"

The mischievous grin from the doorway was infuriating.

"Your first thought as you awake Miss Price, how interesting. Did you dream of me?"

"Something like that," she muttered warily, looking him over.

"All inappropriate for polite company I hope?"

She glared at him. "Pity we're not in polite company then isn't it?" she sniped back.

He raised his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. "So you'll tell me your dream then?"

Amanda couldn't help the smile that twitched momentarily on her lips.

"Wickham, where am I?"

He sighed, as if disappointed at the end of their game, and strolled casually up to her bed.

"It's George, not Wickham," he informed her flippantly, "since you must refer to me as the dearest darling brother that I am." He leaned closer to her conspiratorially. "You are in a bad way beloved sister due to a series of circumstances so horrifying that the mere mention of them in your presence could send you into decline."

"Decline? Do I look like I'm in bloody decline?"

"No, which is mores the pity since it is your weakened state of health that is procuring these rather nice rooms momentarily free of charge." He raised his eyebrows at her and she wanted to slap him so hard that they would fall off.

She was also feeling decidedly uncharitable towards him because she had just noticed that he was looking rather delectably gorgeous this morning, while she on the other hand probably had horrendous bed hair and morning breathe. Lovely. Not that she cared of course. Why would she?

"Lord and Lady Belvoclair will be most overjoyed to hear that you have improved," Wickham added with a curve of his lips. "They were most concerned for your well-being."

"I would be too with you as my guardian," she retorted.

"Ah, Miss Price, your acid tongue brings joy to my heart." He put a hand to his chest and folded himself gracefully into the chair by her bed.

Amanda sat up slightly in bed, snatching up the covers close to her chest when Wickham's eyes dropped, and she realised with a horrid jolt that she was wearing some manner of nightgown.

"Where are my clothes?" she exclaimed with a raised voice. "Wickham! If you touched me I will…"

Something flickered in his eyes as his teasing expression dropped for a split second before slipping back into place. Amanda had the strangest sensation that she was being held securely in strong arms before it passed and she was back in bed staring at Wickham's grinning face.

"The landlord's wife helped you into some of her things. You were semi-conscious at the time. Most disappointingly I could not, for the sake of our cover, help."

Oh yes, she could vaguely remember some strange woman's voice.

"You should have said we were married George," she suggested with an ironic air. He feigned despondence.

"Alas Miss Price, were it not for the distinct lack of ring I would have done so in an instant."

She smiled at him with genuine affection, knowing that he could have thought of something if he were determined and not noble deep down.

"Although, I am also distinctly reluctant to saddle myself with even a fictional wife. Those sorts have a habit of coming back to haunt you, not to mention the great difficulty of a man like me having to act the misery and oppression of a married man. I am simply not that good."

All her charitable feelings towards him of a second ago vanished.

"And now dear sister I return downstairs so that you may rest. You are scowling again and I fear that cannot be good for your weakened health." He got to his feet swiftly and strode to the door.

"If I could throw something at you Wickham I would," she told him with a low growl. She was lamenting wearing something that would not permit her to leave the safety of the bed covers.

"I know you would," he replied affectionately and shut the door.

Wickham returned downstairs with that odd sensation sitting on his chest. He wished for a hundred things but doubted a single one of them would come true. So being a man used to hardship and making the best of any situation he strode back into the main inn with a charming smile and challenged the nearest victim to a game of cards.

Amanda too was feeling a little strange, for more reasons than one. Firstly she was recognising those signs of attraction in herself that were absolutely not acceptable for the current situation or target and so was doing her best to keep them subdued. Secondly she was equally trying to subdue the nasty little voice, which sounded an awful lot like Miss Bingley, gloating about how Amanda was poor and penniless and how she had been abandoned by them all, including Mr Darcy. That brought her to number three. If they had all abandoned her then what was Wickham doing here?

"Right bastard at the right time," she muttered to herself but it felt like there was more to it than that. She wished she could pinpoint the memories scattered in that vague darkness of how she got here.

Instead she just fell asleep.

* * *

"You recovered remarkably well for someone with such poor health," Wickham remarked dryly, appearing behind her in the mirror two days later.

"There was very little wrong with me," Amanda brushed through her hair and turned to him. "I only stayed in bed yesterday because you told me to and now I've just about had enough of it."

She met his eyes challengingly, determined not to notice how nice he looked this morning, how tight his clothes were and how soft his hair probably was.

"Besides, the longer we stay the worse the bill gets. How are we to pay?"

Wickham tilted his head and eyes her up unabashedly. "Fortunately dearest sister you are in the company of the best bluffer in England. The bill is paid by some other lodger. As the bill for your portmanteau of pretty dresses we have yet to purchase."

"Gambling?" she raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Aren't you supposed to be bad at that?"

Wickham took a step towards her and gently removed the hairbrush from her hand. Amanda's heart sped up as his fingers brushed and then closed over her own. She met his eyes that bored so deep into her it left her momentarily breathless. She released the brush but he did not move away.

"It's the best reputation to have at gambling," he continued regardless, smiling quietly, face close to her own, "because no one expects you to win."

He placed the brush on the table and took a step back.

"Are you ready to go?"

Amanda blinked at him.

"Go where?"

Wickham flourished his hand with a small bow. "And for my next trick I get us received as house guests with a very good friend of mine." He raised his head from the bow, eyes twinkling. "I haven't just sat around playing cards all day Miss Price." He straightened and offered his arm. "Our carriage awaits."


	2. Guests

Chapter 2

The paper in Wickham's hands shook slightly as he read the announcement he had expected to come. Slowly he closed it, folded it, and placed it on the table before him. He propped his chin in one hand and proceeded to debate what exactly he was going to do about it. His cool demeanour hid the hot anger that burned inside. Retribution was something Wickham liked to put on slow burn, if not do without entirely. Practicality wise he wasn't sure how raft sinking worked and he had rescued the drowning victim anyway. This was just one of those rare occasions where he was reluctant to let go of an impossible task. In addition he was still left with the tricky question of what to do with the knowledge. In this morning's paper that he had started to read at luncheon (having missed breakfast) was the announcement of the marriage of one Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley to one Miss Charlotte Bingley. To tell Amanda or not, that was the question.

The decision was made in a split second as Miss Price walked in and he slipped the paper down the side of his chair.

"Morning," he nodded to her and received her smiled morning in return.

She sat down and proceeded to eat.

They had been staying with his friend for some weeks now, and it was nearing the time where etiquette demanded that they leave. The only problem Wickham had was trying to think of where to go next.

Well, to be honest that wouldn't be so very much of a problem if he didn't have Miss Price with him, but he did – and they weren't married – so he couldn't order only a single room. Nor could he afford to buy a house. The Wickham magic was failing him.

"What are you thinking about Wickham?"

He glanced up from his cold ham to see her studying him intently. He could almost see her brain reading him, picking up on the slightest signs of distress.

"Just how beautiful you look today Miss Price," he replied automatically. She glared at him. He grinned and took a sip of his coffee.

"Don't give me that bull George."

He raised his eyebrows at her over the cup, glad that the host, nor any other guests, were present at the table. She was looking all fired up, frowning at him, verging on angry. He put the coffee cup down.

"Miss Price, I can assure you that nothing that concerns me this morning needs concern you."

She stared at him unflinchingly, studying his face.

"You haven't been sleeping well have you? I knew it." She folded her arms unmoving. "I want to know what's keeping you awake."

Wickham rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes shut.

"Merely our movements within the next few days Miss Price," he said in exasperation.

"Oh," she uttered in surprise and fell silent.

Now she would be worrying about it too, he cursed inwardly. He should have invented some story about a thwarted conquest or something. That would have been more in keeping with his alleged character, but she would have known it wasn't that – and he had no desire to lie to her…

"Have you seen the paper?"

…except about that.

"Only when I read it," he responded, drinking more coffee. Amanda sighed in annoyance and finished off her plate.

"No need to stand on ceremony is there Wickham," she stated, getting up. He glanced at her, thoroughly looked her up and down in the gorgeous dress he knew she'd look good in, and met her eyes again.

"Not at all Miss Price."

He spotted the faintest flush on her cheeks as she left in a semi-indignant storm at his wandering eyes. Wickham smiled into his coffee, a small private one just for himself, almost hoping that she was starting to like it.

* * *

Amanda stood in front of her mirror and stared at her glazed reflection. Behind her on the bed lay the newspaper, spread open on the page about the marriage…and she felt nothing. No tears, no rage, no annoyance…just blank. It felt like a decade ago that whole fiasco had occurred. How long had it actually been? A month maybe? A month since they all abandoned her, threw her aside, never inquired after her. It felt like they were all a distance away, people she didn't really know anymore…or maybe she had just stopped caring.

The curious elusiveness of yesterday's paper had made her suspicious, starting with Wickham's evasive comment that implied that he had no idea where it was, and carrying on to her being unable to find one anywhere, finally ending with her catching sight of one jutting out of a bin. The more she had been unable to find one, the more she had been determined to discover what it said.

Now she knew why the distinct lack of them and suspected Wickham's hand behind it all.

There was a knock at the door.

Speak of the devil.

She yelled him to come in, even though it was most inappropriate.

Wickham entered and his eyes immediately fell on the newspaper. He flicked them to her back, not quickly enough as she watched him in the reflection. Amanda turned to face him, mind trying to work out how to confront him about it.

"Miss Price – I know what we shall do," Wickham announced jovially.

"Its not elope is it?" she asked sardonically and was rewarded with his face lighting up teasingly.

"Nothing so exciting," he responded, "I had not thought of it myself," – except he had, along with simply kidnapping her to the border if she wasn't inclined to agree – "but if you insist Miss Price I suppose I shall have to comply."

She smiled at him, "Wickham, you are a total bastard. Get on with it."

He grinned back and extracted a letter from his jacket pocket, waving it in front of her nose tauntingly.

"This letter, Miss Price, is from an old lady I know very well – in this letter she states that she is indeed in want of a companion, which is what I asked her in my letter, and you are to start post-haste."

Amanda blinked in bewilderment. "What?"

Wickham sighed dramatically and offered her the piece of paper, his face becoming serious. "It is not forever Miss Price, it is just temporary. It will give you a place to stay while I think of the next move. Besides, I should probably report to my superior officer sometime so he knows that I haven't done a bunk."

He watched her read the letter slowly, his eyes apologising.

"What would I have to do?" Amanda asked, pulling a face.

"Keep her company," Wickham shrugged. "You will like her. She is like you. Full of spunk." He smiled. "She will not mind your abrasive tone and impoliteness. She will more than likely quite enjoy it. She has frightened off all her quieter companions."

Amanda nodded in acceptance, like he knew she would, because she was like him, and would do what it took and endure the bad.

"Will you come to see me?" she asked quietly.

Wickham's heart jumped but he didn't show it.

"I don't know Miss Price," he teased, "I might need some incentives."

She didn't laugh this time, or glare, she just _looked_ at him. He couldn't stand the intensity.

"I would like you to come," she told him firmly – and then smiled, "after all – one unwelcome face is better than no familiar faces."

The overwhelming feeling that rushed through him prompted action and without thinking he took her hand and kissed her palm. He heard her gasp and looked into her eyes, her hand still held in his own, his eyes brimming over with every emotion.

"Why didn't you tell me about their marriage George?"

And everything came to a screeching halt. He dropped her hand and took a step back.

No use pretending he didn't know what she was talking about.

"I thought it might upset you," he confessed within easy range of the door. "It might not have helped you."

"Helped me do what George?" she asked in an almost…dangerous tone. She couldn't be mad. If she'd been mad she would have yelled at him immediately.

"Helped you move on," he answered.

He couldn't remember being this serious with anyone in his entire life like he had been with Amanda.

"Is it important for me to?"

He narrowed his eyes at her own unblinking ones, challenging.

"Yes Miss Price, I believe it is," he almost snapped. When did this become an interrogation?

She looked at the floor and said one word. "Why?"

Ice felt like it was spreading through his veins as he stared at her. His tone became cold as he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Why indeed Miss Price? Why indeed?" he bowed sharply to her and strode out the room.

Amanda's head snapped up and she followed him quickly. "George wait!"

He halted in the corridor and faced her impassively.

"No Miss Price it is none of my concern. If you wish to waste your life pining after some proud fool who never deserved you and couldn't see what he had so he tossed you away like rubbish rather than cling to you like he should have then who am I to stand in your way?"

With that he turned and walked away.

Amanda remained in the corridor in a state of unease.

"Why is it important to you?" she whispered before casting her eyes heavenward. "So that's what you wanted to say was it Amanda? Well no bloody good now." She stomped back into her room and shut the door, her eyes falling on the discarded letter. She exhaled heavily. "Happy face," she muttered and proceeded to pack, her mind wandering inexorably to the kiss on her pal. She paused and looked at the spot in bewilderment. "What are you playing at George?" she glanced at her door. "Do you mean it or is it all part of a game?"

* * *

Wickham endeavoured not to see Miss Price for the rest of the day, but when he did not see her at luncheon on the next he made enquiries.

"Oh, Miss Price has already left. She took her leave last night and left early this morning. She requested the use of the carriage. She said the two of you had made arrangements and not to worry if you didn't look like you knew what I was talking about."

The host smiled as Wickham slowly let it sink in that she must've gone to the address on the letter like the spunky girl she was…or she was just running away from him. No goodbye after all they'd been through. That stung a bit.

"She left a note for you I believe," the host added and Wickham immediately went off in search of it.

The handwriting of 'George' was atrociously unconventional, just like her. He broke the wafer and quickly read the short few lines, uttering a bark of laughter.

_'Wickham, you had better come visit me or I shall tell everyone in England that you are secretly a nice guy and are really very good at gambling. Amanda.'_

Wickham folded up the note and slipped it in his jacket pocket before striding off to order a carriage to take him back to his superior in Meryton.


	3. The garden

**A/N Thank you for the reviews. I was surprised by the number of Amanda x Wickham fans out there. Thank you for reading. This is the final chapter. Enjoy. **

Chapter 3

Two weeks and she'd heard nothing from him. Amanda sighed and dropped her head into her hand. Maybe he was a jerk after all…but those dreams she'd started having – snatches of memory coming back from all those weeks ago – things she wasn't sure if she had imagined. Had Wickham really carried her? Why did her dreams have him rescuing her from water when she was about to drown?

Amanda sighed again. Well he had certainly come after her when no one else had otherwise he wouldn't have been with her at the inn. That little question of why would have to be employed again the next time she saw him. She hoped she saw him soon. She missed him, quite infuriatingly.

"Stop sighing in the corner and come help me out of this chair," her charge chastised her and Amanda couldn't help but grin. She was sure the old lady was some distant relation to Wickham, the mannerisms were similar.

"Come with me outside into the sunshine girl. It will stop your moping over that boy."

Oh, and the lady was shrewd. Amanda wasn't quite sure if she liked that or not.

"What boy would that be?" Amanda played along, walking alongside her.

"My good for nothing great-nephew of course."

So she was right then. Related. Amanda smiled again and sat down next to her on a stone bench in the sun.

"Whatever put such an idea in your head?" Amanda asked, knowing that the old lady liked the game, much like Wickham.

"Don't you try pulling the wool over my eyes." The old lady shook her finger playfully at Amanda. "I know you miss him." She took her eyes away from Amanda and looked up the garden path. "And here he comes now."

Amanda's head snapped to attention.

Indeed Wickham was striding straight up the garden path, looking as carefree and happy as ever. That smile was making her insides do strange things.

"Nephew," Mrs Rowlstead greeted pleasantly. "How long has it been since you came to see me?"

"Far too long Aunt," Wickham replied, bowing over her outstretched hand, serious faced but with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His aunt retrieved her hand and he turned his attention to Amanda.

"You look positively startled Miss Price! Were you not aware of my visit?" He looked questioningly at his Aunt.

"It must have slipped my mind to inform Miss Price," Mrs Rowlstead replied steadily with no shame.

Wickham grinned. Amanda scowled. Wickham met Amanda's eyes and she felt her heart speed up. There was a pause.

"Aunt," Wickham broke eye contact to turn to his closely observing great-aunt. "I wish to borrow Miss Price for a while."

Mrs Rowlstead flapped her hand dismissively. "I'll make sure Betty has tea ready for when you return."

Wickham offered Amanda his arm. "Shall we Miss Price?"

She reached out slowly and got to her feet. When she was last time she had felt this awkward? This nervous!

Wickham set off down the garden, taking her with him. The garden was humming and buzzing with life as bees and butterflies skipped from flower to flower in the sunshine. Wickham filled the silence with easy conversation, simultaneously answering her unasked question. "I have been with the militia this past fortnight. They were making a move to Brighton and I was required to stay with them for a time." Amanda made a strange noise that indicated she'd heard him. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. "Just in case you were wondering why I did not come sooner Miss Price."

Amanda tried to give a nonchalant shrug and said, too quickly, "You can come see me when you like Wickham, it's not my concern, why should it be?"

'_Damn it Amanda, keep your head on straight. Be cool.'_

Wickham was smirking at her. It was infuriating and he always had to look so bloody gorgeous in the process.

"I have to admit Miss Price that I have missed your acid wit and poisonous looks. How do you like my great aunt?"

Amanda half-laughed, "She is certainly unconventional like you promised. You failed to mention before that you were related."

"Did I?" he feigned shock," how incredibly short sighted of me." She stopped and turned to face him. He was amassing great enjoyment in teasing her. "What shall you do to punish me for my offence Miss Price?"

She looked at him intently. "Why did you come after me when no one else did?"

He visibly winced, recovering quickly. "And what a punishment Miss Price! To force me to be serious. I don't know how my nerves can withstand it," his tone was only half joking.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm the one with the poor health remember?"

He looked bewildered for a second before relaxation dawned and he let out a chuckle of laughter. "Of course Miss Price, how could I forget?"

Amanda took a step towards him, looking up into his liquid eyes. She'd done it before, however last time she'd been threatening him and now she was pleading. "Tell me."

Wickham gazed down at her, his face becoming serious. "What are you doing to me Amanda?" he sighed and gently started to play with a strand of her hair. "When you left it took some time before I even found out. I overheard Mrs Bennett rejoicing in your departure. I accosted Darcy. He neither knew nor cared." Anger flashed in Wickham's eyes. "I alone knew that you had no where to go. Whether the rest did or not they did not spare a moment to consider that you did not have any transport. They all pried your fingers from the raft and waited to watch you drown. It is the way of the world."

"Except you."

He took a breath and held her eyes captured with his own.

"Except me." Hurt flashed across his face. "Why did you not come to me Amanda? I thought…" He took his hand away and shifted his eyes.

"I would have," she whispered, "but I don't know what you could have done."

He looked back at her, eyebrows raised.

"Well I do now," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes, "Wickham magic and all that."

He smiled at her and she smiled back. He gently lifted a hand to her face and laid it against her cheek, fingers slipping into her hair. Amanda was caught by his eyes and the proximity of his face and when his arm slipped around her waist and pressed her against him her head swam.

"I went after you Miss Price because we are one of a kind," he told her earnestly, "and in the militia you look after your comrades."

"That's the only reason?" she asked breathlessly, trying to keep her eyes off his mouth.

Wickham smiled slowly and bent his head closer to her.

"Well I wouldn't say that."

His lips pressed against hers and the tension in her head broke as he slowly slanted his mouth against hers and she responded passionately, making him gasp.

"Miss Price," he smiled breathlessly, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against hers. "You are not supposed to know how to kiss like that."

"And you're not supposed to kiss me at all until you've proposed," she retorted.

Wickham grimaced, "Ah, well you see…"

Amanda kissed him.

"Don't give me any rubbish excuses George."

He raised his eyebrows, "Would you believe me if I said I was already married?" She shook her head. "Already engaged?" Another shake. "A vow of celibacy?"

Amanda laughed. "Not a chance."

Wickham sighed and looked thoughtful. "I suppose I shall have to marry you then."

Grinning Amanda moved to kiss him again but he moved his head slightly away.

"You're not very rich."

She punched him on the arm instead.

As the pair strolled back to the house to break the news to Mrs Rowlstead Amanda broke the comfortable silence.

"Thank you for rescuing me."

Wickham smiled at her, "Thank you for letting me."

The art of sinking rafts didn't seem so very important anymore.


End file.
